


When you get what you want, but not what you need

by amnesiaccyborg



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU where Sherlock begs and John feels bad for him, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Gen, M/M, can be interpreted however you want, not really slash, preslash or gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:18:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1496392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amnesiaccyborg/pseuds/amnesiaccyborg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dark, dreary London day. Nothing out of the ordinary, but still, something seemed... off. Of course, everything seemed off nowadays, what with the pitying looks that he didn’t want and the therapist he didn’t need. It was on this dark, dreary London day when John passed a man, sitting on a corner, his hands outspread to form a cup. There were a few loose coins in his hands, but not enough to buy anything with. It seemed odd that the situation seemed odd, as John passed many homeless beggars in London. Everyone did. It was impossible to go anywhere without them, to be honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When you get what you want, but not what you need

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Coldplay's "Fix You"

It was a dark, dreary London day. Nothing out of the ordinary, but still, something seemed... off. Of course, everything seemed off nowadays, what with the pitying looks that he didn’t want and the therapist he didn’t need. It was on this dark, dreary London day when John passed a man, sitting on a corner, his hands outspread to form a cup. There were a few loose coins in his hands, but not enough to buy anything with. It seemed odd that the situation seemed odd, as John passed many homeless beggars in London. Everyone did. It was impossible to go anywhere without them, to be honest. Perhaps it was his instincts, the feeling that something was just not right with the gaunt form sitting on the corner. He slowed down as he approached, the cascade of dirty black hair covering the man’s face. He watched as a woman reached into her pocket and pulled out fifty pence - a gesture of pity, John was sure - and left before much else could happen. The man flipped his hair out of his eyes, and John caught a snatch of bright, intelligent blue eyes and high, sharp cheekbones. He paused by the man.

“Are you- sorry, I’m a doctor - are you alright?”

The man straightened, his bright eyes piercing John’s. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

John shrugged. “You just looked... bad, I suppose. No offense.” The man continued studying him. He coughed. “Um, well. Your pupils are dilated, and one is much larger than the other, you’re very, very thin, you don’t appear to have a place to stay or anywhere, which are all signs of-”

“Drug abuse.” The man smiled bitterly.

“Yeah.”

“You caught me.” the man grinned, and John was torn between thinking the man ought to smile more and that he ought to stop because he was high and John couldn’t help the overwhelming sense of pity that was brimming in him.

“You got any family in the area?” John was already pulling out his phone.

“No. Well, yes, but I can’t go there. He’d kill me.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine-”

“I’m fine right where I am, thank you.”

“What, saving more money to buy drugs? How long has it been since you’ve eaten? Or slept?”

“...what’s the date?”

“My god.” John mumbled.

The smile slid off the man’s face to be replaced with a look of utter misery. “I don’t want to be like this.” he said. “But my brain just won’t stop sometimes. And I get bored, and the drugs...”

“They take all that away, yeah?”

The man nodded. “Yes. I’ve tried to just not. But... It isn’t really the addiction that’s the problem.”

John had a feeling the man wasn’t usually this talkative. “You know what, I think you should go to, um, whoever your family was in the area-”

“No!” the man clenched John’s sleeve. “I can’t do that.”

“Alright, okay. You can come home with me. I’m a doctor, I can help-” The man released his sleeve.

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“No, you need a friend.”

“What, are you volunteering for the job?” the man sneered.

“Yes. I am. John Watson.” He held out a hand.

“Sherlock.” the man muttered, ignoring him. “Sherlock Holmes.”


End file.
